Page 367 of Devil’s Disciples

“Jesus.” I swallowed heavily. “You took that shit from me without me suspecting anything. If you hadn’t said anything, I wouldn’t have noticed until the next time I looked at my watch. Even then, I wouldn’t have suspected you took them. That’s insane.”

“To prove my worth, I’ve also got these,” she said, opening the hand she held the watch with. She nodded toward her open palm. “Have a look.”

My key ring was cupped in her palm.

I carried the keys in the front pocket of my jeans. For her to reach inside and remove my them unnoticed would take much more than a slight of hand trick. It was a fucking miracle.

I gawked at her hand in amazement. “What. The. Fuck.”

“So, to answer your question.” She grinned. “Yes, I’m a thief.”

“Pickpocket,” I argued. “You’re a pickpocket.”

“For what it’s worth,” she explained. “A person could take these keys, press them into a piece of wax, and then return them into your pocket without you noticing. The wax impression could then be used to make a duplicate key, which would allow access to a home without breaking a window or picking a lock. One could walk in, in front of neighbors, without suspicion. Theoretically, of course.”

I studied her for a moment. She was an adorable, innocent twentysomething. At least she appeared to be one.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Thirty-two.”

“Bullshit,” I said with a laugh. “Twenty-two, maybe. Hell, you could pass for eighteen.”

“I’m thirty-two.”

“What year were you born?” I asked.

“I might be a thief, but I’m not a fucking liar.” She tossed me my items one by one. “If you’re going to treat me like one, or call me one, you can go fuck yourself, Goose.”

“Settle down,” I said.

She looked me up and down, and then shook her head in frustration. “I just proved that I trust you. You know who I am.”

I was at the crossroads. I could either trust her, and keep her in my life, or deny that trust and allow her to escape. I wanted to trust her. Obviously, Ghost trusted her. If he ate breakfast with her for two months straight, he had to have trusted her. It was probably why he didn’t hesitate to tell her where I was from.

“I’m single because I’m afraid exposing someone to who I really am won’t go well.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m a thief.”

She grinned. “You’re in good company. It’s the only life I’ve ever known. I came about it honestly, though. My father taught me.”

“I’m a real thief.”

“So am I.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Biggest take on a job.”

“I don’t brag about my jobs,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I was told it was bad manners, and bad luck. What about you?”

I put my hands on my hips. “I don’t brag about mine, either. But, let’s just say there’s not a crime I haven’t committed. I’m an outlaw. I carry a gun with me everywhere I go. A silenced Walther .22 caliber, just in case. I’ve been in shootouts with law enforcement and I’ve outrun the cops on more occasions than I can count. I’ve been beat up, tied up, cut up, shaken up, and blown up. Now I’m pretty much fed up.”

“Wow. I’m impressed.” She said, her tone not very convincing. She either lacked interest or wasn’t impressed. She nodded toward my waist. “Were you expecting me to argue those points?”

“I wasn’t. Why?”

“Your hands on your hips tell me otherwise.”